


Nice Girls Miss Out

by twowritehands



Series: Helluva Woman [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hand Cuffs, Secret Crush, kinky hetero sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-04-23 03:34:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4861451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twowritehands/pseuds/twowritehands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now that Sheriff Donna Hanscum knows what goes bump in the night, she begins to work with Jody and the boys more often. She and Dean are drawn to one another, but they're both jaded and know better than to act on their secret feelings.</p><p>Until a near death experience leaves Donna tired of living life like a Nice Girl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nice Girls Miss Out

<https://www.flickr.com/gp/132874026@N02/Xn5EH0>

 

Here’s the thing about Donna:

Her smile.

Kissable pink lips, big white teeth, an expression that is perpetually chipper, always polite. Her vivacious spirit grates on Dean's nerves at first. But in a world of darkness he comes to appreciate her sunny disposition. And the way she avoids swear words starts to feel like maybe not every single aspect of his life has to be cruel, gritty and hard as asphalt. Sweet and uncomplicated, she's like a freaking slice of normal apple pie.

Her uniform.

Ever since she became a reoccurring fixture in the hunter network, Dean has gotten used to seeing her in her uniform, sometimes in various stages of undress like that time she has her blue button down un-tucked and open to show--a Bon Jovi t-shirt! Or that time they drive a rental into a lake and she kicks her shoes off so that when they swim ashore, she strips away black dress socks and he gets a glimpse of her super cute feet and her pink pedicure. It makes him remember her in soft pink pajamas and his brain takes a detour into all enticing pink things that make him hungry for ... Anyway.

Her hips.

The word that comes to mind when he sees them is  _real_. She doesn't look like Dean could snap her in half. Her healthy curves entice him, lure him like a lush valley lures a starving animal. He knows what pleasure he could find in the fleshy softness on her hips, her puffy belly, her thick thighs, and her heavy breasts… He likes something to hold onto, to bite, to suck on. He likes the jiggle. He likes the curves.

Her disguises

The time they're investigating witchcraft in a high school girls’ volleyball team and Donna gets in as the assistant coach. Her yoga pants leave nothing about her ass and thighs to the imagination and her tank top shows a daisy tattoo on her right shoulder. The glimpse of ink makes Dean grin stupidly to himself for a minute.

He likes the way the lanyard around her neck curves around her breasts and the whistle swings off the cliff of her chest. He likes the way she tucks her hair in a backwards baseball cap and talks at the girls like they're soldiers, telling one of them in that cheery Minnesota voice gone steely with annoyance, "There's no cryin' on my court, hon. Suck it up!"

Or that time Jody convinces Donna to go undercover as bait... Dean's jaw hits the floor when she comes down the hall in a white sundress and sandals. Her hair is down and curling at the ends and a delicate gold chain glitters across her collarbones. Her pale legs look shiny and smooth and when she adjusts the gun strap high on her thigh, Dean gets a little dizzy.

 Her blond hair.

The bounce in her ponytail swaying across her back draws his eye. Her hair looks like spun gold that would be silky to the touch. The first time he witnesses her pull the band out so that it all swooshes down around her heart face makes him go a little breathless. At least once that day, he must refrain himself from tucking some of her wayward blond tresses behind one of her cute little ears. He wonders what it would smell like, what it would be like to sink both hands into it, takes fistfuls of it as he... Anyway.

So, yeah, Dean has a thing for Donna. He isn't planning on making anything out of it. Relationships are for people who have something left to give, after all. So he admires her. He’ll protect her like she’s one of his own. But there can never be _more_ … Until…

Middle of a harrowing hunt, Donna cocks her rifle one handed with her mouth in a hard line, “Let’s gank this mook.”

Her appropriation of hunter’s jargon makes Dean unaccountably happy. He shakes his head as he beams at her in open awe, “You’re a hellava woman, Donna.”

“Thanks, hon,” she chirps back at him as they fall into step together after the monster. “You’re not so bad yahself.” And the way her eyes flick over him with one brow up is _very_ promising.

-X-

Here’s the thing about Dean:

His face.

It is just too goshdarn beautiful. Pick a feature, literally any one of them, and Donna might could draw up a seat and wax poetical if the mood so struck her. (Or if there was donuts for tryin’.) His eyes are bright green and lined with the lessons of too many hard years, and framed in these perfectly spaced and curved lashes. His pink lips and the overall shape of his mouth, the way he holds it in little smirks or frowns, is just too cute for words. His nose is a sweet little point, smattered with freckles that stretch faintly out over his cheekbones--those angled cheekbones--oh, and his jaw? Hubba hubba! Let that beard out a little bit, hon. There ya go.

His voice.

Deep. Rough. Even when he’s putting on airs of a casual disguise, there’s something in his voice; this hard boiled detective, seen-everything-and-am-so-over-it, thing that is so static and caricature she hardly believes it’s real. She keeps waiting for him to say a single thing that isn’t rasped like each syllable has to drag it’s belly, heavy with the weight of the world, across the asphalt. Then there’s the oh so faint country accent, the heavy hunter jargon, the unapologetic swearing, and the sheer sincerity he can inject into a short sentence. Uff, Donna just can’t get enough of that voice.

His car.

Boxy, black and loud, but oh so sexy. She comes to recognize the sounds of that roaring engine, the squeak and slam of those old car doors. Donna has no particular interest in motors, but her daddy sure did, and she picked up a thing or two growing up.

1) a person can pick something so much worse than a car to pour their heart and soul into, so for that we must always be thankful. 2) fixing an engine is like a cool puzzle game. And like all puzzle games, it comes rather naturally to her. In fact, she could make it a real hobby, if only it wasn’t so sticky and smelly. 3) it’s never _just_  a car.

(And for the record, Donna would never say that it’s just a car to Dean. Not ever. Especially when she learns he and Sam literally grew up in this thing. And that Dean rebuilt it all by himself after it was totaled, working through the fresh grief of losing his father. When Dean calls that car “she” and “her” and “Baby”, she smiles and knows it’s not a sexist thing. It’s pure affection. It, a car, is part of his family. Donna likes that.)

His brother.

Dean is a big brother, and it shows. Donna adores the way Dean teases Sam, the way that he, and only he, is allowed to call him “Sammy” as if that huge tree of a man is a little tot squealing as he runs from the bath. The fact that these two have on multiple occasions, LITERALLY, died for one another encourages Donna to call her own brother more often for a quick chat. And she gets a serious bout of flutters in her belly when Dean and Sam have a brother moment in front of her, hugging it out, man chests flush together, wide hands slapping backs. An errant thought crosses her mind, _I want sons that are just like this._

His food.

Dean has the best taste in food. Burgers, pie, burritos, pizza--some people call it junk, and there isn’t a diet in the world that allows her to eat it. But if he recommends it, she’ll cheat. Period. Because good food with good friends nourishes the soul. The best part is that he’s not a half bad cook, either. Especially when she shows him a few tips and scribbles down some of the recipes she has created in all her years of noodling around in the kitchen. Her heart skips a beat when he beams at her and the tin of homemade cookies she brought to the hunt. When he takes a bite and moans, she giggles.

So Donna has it bad for Dean Winchester, but she’s a career woman and--while marriage got her out of practice--she knows how to control a crush, and she manages to do just that. A relationship is out of the question for her right now (rebound, and all) plus it’s not like Dean would be interested in a thirty-something divorcee, right? Until…

Donna eagerly throws on Dean’s authentic poncho in order to hide her conspicuous uniform, and pulls the rubber band from her hair because in her mind it’s part of the uniform (she never wears her hair back while she’s off the clock.) When she catches Dean looking at her with this wistful expression softening his face, turning the perpetual frown into a tilted line of happiness, she can’t help but return the smile ten-fold. “How do I look?”

Honest-as-ever, Sam smirks at the cowboy poncho. “You’re still gonna stand out--just now in a weirder way.”

Visibly shaking himself out of it, Dean checks the time. “It’ll do.” he rasps. They have a very brief window of opportunity to gank the monster here. “I mean, we aren’t hunting a thing noted for its intelligence. This’ll throw it off enough to give her the advantage.”

“How do you happen to have full cowboy get up on hand anyway?” she asks.

The brothers trade a look that speaks volumes, and Donna knows there is a story there rich with drama and magic and the subtle humor that these two cultivate together.

“Long story.”

“Yeah. Once we take this thing down, we’ll tell you all about it over tacos. Spied a mexican place on the way in that’s really good.”

Donna is very much looking forward to Dean’s recommended food when things in the case take a sour turn and she finds herself hogtied and about to die. About to be eaten and digested, as a matter of fact. Uff-da. Not good.

A lot of stuff in Donna, stuff she normally keeps neatly folded and put away, gets shook loose. Her whole silly life up to that point, the achievements, the dreams, the disappointments and setbacks. The pride and regret.

The desire.

Soon enough she gets herself out of the mess with some help from Cas and Jody. Meanwhile, Dean and Sam take down the baddie and the day is won.

Except… Donna’s eye meets Dean’s, and she gets an idea.

-X-

They all hit that restaurant when the hunt is over. Dean, Sam, Donna, Jody and Cas crowd a booth table and order half the menu. Dean is impressed by how much burrito Donna can fit in her mouth. He doesn’t say anything about it; because he has tact. Doesn’t stop him from fantasizing just a little bit as he pretends to listen to Sam and Cas recount for Donna and Jody the story of when Sam and Dean traveled through time to hunt the last known phoenix for it’s ashes.

“Yeah, uh, we needed them to work a spell. We had to do whatever was necessary right? I mean we were against the mother of all evil.”

“Oooh, what was it?” Donna asks, wide eyed and drawing Dean out of his sordid bedroom fantasy back to the present. Sam’s eyes cut to him and they share a smirk, “No, like the _literal_ mother of all evil.”

“The mother of all monsters,” Dean offers, “Her name was Eve.”

“Oh. Wow. Okay, I hear ya, yeah. Wow...” Donna chuckles, with a shake of her head at herself and leans back in her seat, “You boys really seen it all, huh?” Her eyes meet Dean’s at the same time her foot nudges his under the table. Probably accidently.

Dean shrugs, purposefully nudging Donna’s shoe in return, just to see, and he gives one of his cute guy shrugs, “Hey, what can you say, when you’re cursed, you’re cursed.”

She laughs, as they all do when he turns on the adorable charm like this. He’s thinking how he likes her laugh when he feels the toe of her shoe slid up the side of his calf. No way _that_ is an accident. Their eyes meet as Jody says something that makes Sam laugh and Cas totally misses the joke in the way only Cas can. Dean would usually quietly adore his dorky angel but just now he’s much too caught up in footsie with a sheriff he would have sworn was out of his league.

She is all kinds of normal, for one. She is successful in a real and dangerous job, for two. She is happy and intelligent and has basic standards for what she deserves in a relationship. These are not traits shared by the type that usually finds a thrill in Dean’s rolling-through-town, mysterious bad boy persona.

Jody excuses herself for the restroom, and Sam wanders off to find someone who can tell him the wifi password so he can google a halfway decent motel in this town. Cas declares they need take out boxes and heads for the counter. Dean and Donna are briefly left alone together at which point, Dean barely has time to formulate an action plan to follow this exciting development of footsie when Donna leans forward over her empty plate, eyes locked on him. “I’m so wet for you right now,” she purrs at him just when he knocks back the last of his soda.

Sam crashes back into his seat, “You have to freaking pay to get the password.”

“Those sorry S.O.B’s!” Donna fumes beautifully in response. Innocent as the day is long. Dean is choking. Sam frowns at him,

“Dude, drink much?”

“Bite me,” Dean growls in a strained voice. His eyes drop to Donna’s, and she winks while Sam isn’t looking. Dean can breathe again, but he still doesn’t have breath.

Donna’s foot slides up his leg again.

  
-X- 

Nice girls miss out.

Nice girls wait patiently and play nicely, and end up marrying Dougs just because Dougs are the kind of guys who propose to nice girls when they’ve dated long enough. Literally, he married her as a next step, a _why not_ sort of deal. She said yes because Doug is a good man and nice girls that just turned thirty say yes to proposals from good men.

Nice girls realize after the honeymoon that this is what settling feels like.

Nice girls keep smiling and turn to sweets to make the regret go away.

Nice girls don’t tell the painfully good looking, super charming, dangerous man with demons in his eyes that he makes her wet. Oh, no, nice girls would die before they do something like that.

So that’s exactly what Donna does, because she’s tired of being the nice girl.

Next time she’s facing the disturbing death of being killed in a cowboy outfit and eaten, she’s not going to think about how she let the good stuff go by without even trying to take some of it for herself. Her crush on Dean will end one of two ways: it’ll fizzle out and die or it’ll flower into something more concrete.

Just now she’s ready to force the hands of fate into making a decision one way or the other in that regard. Because Donna needs some fun in a big way and who better than Dean to have that fun with?

When they all leave the restaurant, Jody gets a call from Alex and is informed that Claire Novak has come to stay with her for a few days. Jimmy’s daughter met Alex a few months before, during a hunt near Jody’s home, and the two angry teenaged girls hit it off wonderfully. Cas, who hadn’t heard from his wayward orphan girl, is eager to see how she is, so asks if he can tag along. It’s no skin off Jody’s nose so long as he drives. He’s happy to.

They offer to give Donna a ride, since Still Water is on the way to Sioux Falls, but Donna plays too tired for the trip and insists she’ll just get a room and have the guys take her home in the morning. Sam and Dean are happy to oblige. Jody and Cas go on their way, braving a long night on the road in favor of reaching the girls before a big party breaks out in Jody’s house. Red tail lights fade into the night.

In line at the motel check out, Donna is first so she knows Dean hears her room number. He pretends to be checking out something on his phone as Sam gets a room for the both of them, but when Donna walks past him near enough that their sleeves brush, she feels his eyes snap to her, tracking her as she goes.

She grins and says lowly, “Party’s starting with or without ya, hon.”

He suppresses a moan. She walks on. She hears Sam’s, “Are you alright?” and Dean’s brush off answer. She doesn’t let herself look back and can feel a little extra sway in her hips. Her heart is pounding and she feels dangerous. Wicked. Very un-Donna like. Sorta like Dream Donna, who plays with the hearts of men in all of her best fantasies.

She kinda likes it.

The room is nothing to brag about, but it appears to be clean. Refusing to think, she is quick to make herself presentable for the occasion… maybe a little too quick, as it turns out. She’s ready for the date… and yet her date is late.

In the quiet, what she has done begins to really seep in and she starts to pace a little. “Hurry up, Deano, I’m losin’ my nerve here,” she sing songs under her breath.

 _Rap-tap_ , at the door and her heart stops.

-X-

This feels like the kind of porn you have to enter a credit card number for. He has already checked his breath and his hair and made sure he has condoms. Sam thinks he’s headed to the nearest bar. And, well, Donna’s room has the usual mini bar, so it’s not even a lie.

When the door opens, he’s met with a Donna he’s never seen: hair-down, white spaghetti strap undershirt, and red panties to match her red painted toenails. She still has her freggin gun strapped to her leg. He almost wouldn’t even recognize her but for the huge sunny smile masking the sweet little blush, and the breathy way she says, “Hiya, big boy,” just misses the mark on seductress. It sounds more like an impression of Jessica Rabbit or something.

His words come out on the front of all his breath, and he ogles her openly head to toe, “Oh, mama,” he jumps his eyebrows at her. She releases her hold on the door, walking backwards into the room. He follows, a yuppy on the end of her string. Shutting the door behind him, he feels dizzy.

“Donna, look,” he starts hoarsely, because it has occurred to him what might be going on, “I like Almost Died Today sex as much as anyone, but, uh,” gulping, he finds it hard to remember exactly what he needed to say, because Donna has stepped into his personal space, dragged a finger down his chest, and her tank top is cut low enough to show excellent cleavage from this vantage point. “I just, uh…”

She giggles, and Dean forgets his point entirely. Something about keeping her friendship, but screw it, they weren’t that close anyway. He laughs and says, “Hell, nevermind,” before he sweeps her against him for a big kiss. Instantly, she paws his ass, sweeps up beneath his shirts--he flexes so that she’ll find some semblance of abs--and the second she rips his jeans open, her hands return to his ass, this time, beneath the denim, warm and soft and dragging his pelvis into hers.

He paws her right back. Red panties are satiny--oh God satiny panties--and her thighs have downy hairs so soft to the touch she feels like a virgin beneath his hands, despite how she is coming at him like a minx. His body goes a little wobbly like jelly. She is a lot of woman, and Dean feels like the luckiest sonovabitch to ever live to be her choice for this.

-X-

They breathe heavily through their noses as they kiss, handsy and all-stops-out. He is solid, yet pliant, and a glint in his eye between bity kisses promises that tonight it’s all Her. She’s calling the shots.

“Uff,” she breathes. Nice girls always let her man feel in charge, go with the flow, and don’t actually have the sexual experience to pull this kind of night off. She’s got too many fantasies to choose from. Which one will she bring to life?

With a soft chuckle, Dean combs his fingers into her hair, bites her lip gently, and marks time like this, waiting for orders. She can feel it in the coil of his body and the heat in his eyes how much he’s having to control himself right now. She’s grateful but doesn’t trust it to last, which gives her an idea.

Donna palms him through his shorts, keeping her lips teasingly close to his face until his head drops back. Now her lips are at his scruffy adam’s apple and she nips at it. His hands close on her tightly at the waist, his breath stutters, smile tilting. Maybe she does know what she is doing.

Pulling and pushing, she guides him to the bed and shoves him down. He goes without a fight, landing on his back with a face lit with desire, shirt rucked-up to show his belly, pants open to show his bulging shorts. He starts to wriggle out of the jeans but Donna stops him.

“Nah-uh-uh,” she picks up her handcuffs from the dresser, lets them swing on her finger. Dean laughs.

“Hot damn. Got the key, right?”

“Duh.”

“Then I surrender, officer,” Dean says, holding up his hands. Donna straddles him, slaps those cuffs onto his wrist like he is a dangerous criminal she just tackled to the ground. The bed frame is perfect for this, wooden bars. She swings the cuffs around the sturdiest one and closes the last one on his left wrist.

Biceps framing his face, Dean grins at her. “Not getting my shirts off easily now.”

Donna hadn’t considered this, but shrugs as if she has. “Who says we’re takin’ ‘em off?”

He hums with interest and Donna, settled on his trapped erection, runs her hands up his chest over all the soft flannel. He doesn’t have to control himself anymore, and growls, bumping his hips against hers, panting lightly. “C’mon, Donna,” he begs. “You didn’t even lemme see how wet you are.”

“No complainin’ outta you,” she scolds playfully, moving away from him because she’s got an idea for a reward system here, and he’ll get what he wants when she’s satisfied. “I almost died today so I’m gonna have my way with a hunky hunter and since ya let me cuff ya and all, there’s not much you can do about it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he drawls. She feels the way he trembles beneath her, so she lowers herself back over him, and gives him a slow little kiss. His lips chase after her when she pulls away. He works his wrists in the cuffs and wriggles his feet.

Donna inches lower on the bed, and gives the ratty pair of jeans a tug. Dean eagerly lifts his bottom to assist, and the pants come down to his knees. His thighs are pale as the moon and have an even smattering of hair. She runs her hands up them, into the legs of the shorts, finding warm skin at the crease of his groin, which jumps eagerly.

Mouthing through the fabric, she gets him writhing before she pulls the shorts down to meet the jeans. His erection stands tall and proud, angry red, and wet at the tip. Like the rest of him, it’s just so darn  _pretty_. For the first time in her life, Donna actually wants it in her mouth. She doesn’t have to close her eyes and push through the initial gross feeling. This one looks as sweet as candy.

She laps him up, takes him in, hollows her cheeks, and pulls off. Again, he follows her when she moves away and she giggles. “Wanna see how wet you’re makin’ me, Deano?”

It’s a whine she gets for an answer, and still it’s raspy. A raspy whine. Only Dean. She giggles and straddles him once more with a flip of her hair to boot because she is feeling very porn star right now.

“Fuuuck,” he moans, more to himself than anyone. He presses his face into his right bicep and actually bites his lip when Donna slides her panties over his cock. She does it again and watches the way his eyes roll slightly into the back of his head. He bucks, and writhes as she works herself over him. The panties are soaked now, and she’s got a burning ache that shortens her breath.

“Tell me ya brought a rubber,” she demands.

His hands fight the cuffs, his knees wriggle. “Pants--pocket--back pocket,” he rasps.

“Okie-dokie, then,” Donna says, relieved.

-X-

So here’s the thing about the cuffs. The last girl to tie him up? Cassie from Missouri. He fell in love with her because the trust there made it safe to. And then she hurt him, so that trust was broken. And he hasn’t submitted since.

Now here he is. Completely at Donna’s mercy. How? Why? He can’t even remember. All Dean knows, in that suspended moment while Donna fishes the condom from between his knees, is that Donna isn’t gonna hurt him. He knows it, somehow. And that makes him feel safe.

And you don’t realize how empty casual sex feels until it’s full of trust. It’s this rushing feeling of _ah, there it is, now this is real fun_.

Dean doesn’t acknowledge that he is shaking as Donna secures the protection, pushes the panties aside, and slides onto him. But he is trembling and he’s trying to laugh and he can’t really breathe. She does that thing again where she runs her hands up his body, and does she even know how comforting that is? How it sends tingles down his spine while simultaneously calming his nerves? Every time she does it, his body relaxes and he stops fighting the cuffs when he hadn’t even realized he was. He melts.

She feels incredible. Tight and all powerful above him, taking him for all that he’s worth. He sinks his teeth into his lip as she rides, pushes his face into his arm to fight the feeling that he is going to explode. Donna finds her rhythm and goes for broke, hands caressing the burning skin of Dean’s unshaven neck and fisting the shirt collar.

He wishes he could hold her in return. He needs to. All at once, he is not okay with the cuffs. He fights them for real. Donna, panting, grabs hold of the wooden post and together, they pull it apart. The satisfying splinter of wood frees him, and he surges forward, loops his still-cuffed wrists over her head, drags his hands down the swoop of her back, and gets handfuls of those satiny panties. When he caresses her legs, he is reminded of the gun strapped to her ankle and his blood spikes all over again.

Their harmonizing laughter fills the room and Dean meets her thrust for thrust. The bed groans and protests, structurally weakened, it would seem, from one little displaced bar. It rattles against tacky wallpaper faster and faster until, screaming, Donna convulses around him, and that's all it takes. With a final loud thump, Dean is spent, too.

They are frozen together in the tight embrace, faces buried in each others necks, bodies fading into useless mush. Hearts and lungs burning from the exercise. Minds blank with ecstasy.

-X-

When Donna's got her breath back, she giggles. Dean laughs. The handcuffs clink together as they awkwardly lay back and rearrange themselves on their sides. She is cradled in his arms, the cold metal of the cuffs against her ribs, his rough fingertips idly caressing in lazy zigzags. "That was awesome."

"Yah, sure was. We broke the bed,” she says. His green eyes tilt up to admire their handy work before they widen and his perfect lips part. “That’s on your real card too ain’t it? Shit.”

“It’s fine.”

“I’ll pay for that.”

Donna giggles and pats his arm. “Lemme get the key,” she wriggles out of his hold and leaves the bed. Feeling a tad cold, she rushes back. Dean has wriggled back into his pants and gratefully lets her undo the lock. His wrists are red.

“Poor thing,” she murmurs, giving the painful marks little kisses. “I’m sorry, hon.”

“Oh, darlin’, you don’t gotta say sorry for makin’ me come like that.”

His accent has gone thicker with his post-sex hazy eyes all droopy, and her heart thuds like crazy, that crush from before now fanned into a wildfire consuming her from the inside out. She rubs his wrists and hands to soothe them and idly wonders if her dumb idea to live more isn’t going to kill her in a fit of ironic justice. ‘Cos Dean’s got a life and it ain’t in Still Water.

The thought of him driving away, and life going back to what it was before makes tears prick her eyes, but she expertly checks them and keeps smiling. The nice girl is back. Don’t rock the boat. Don’t ask anyone for anything.

Feeling his eyes on her, she shimmies down and curls into his chest. Whoever said don’t trust a hug because it’s a way to hide the face had it spot on; she presses her ear to his chest more to keep her secrets than to hear his heartbeat. Though that rhythmic thud feels exactly in sync with her own and brings comfort like she hasn’t known since she was an optimistic newly wed.

His big hands start smoothing over the satin of her panties in wide, soothing circles across her ass.

"I luuuuuuv satin,” he purrs lowly in her ear. Brought out of her head and back into the moment, she giggles and wiggles under his hands. “Were you wearing these all day? Even for the hunt?”

“You betcha.”

He moans, and says it mostly to himself with a shake of his head and a tilted smile as his eyes fall closed, and he sighs with oncoming sleep, “Helluva woman.”

  
-X- 

Dean figures it’s best to return to his room before morning, when Sam will come around here to collect Donna for the drive to Still Water. He moves gently from the bed, so as not to disturb Donna, who sleeps on her side, blond hair fanned out, whole body making the kind of curvy silhouette Dean used to draw in the margins of class notes when he was supposed to be listening to teachers.

Once dressed, he can’t help but to touch her silky hair one last time and presses a kiss to her temple. She hums.

“Just me heading to my room,” he whispers.

“What for?” she slurs.

“Trynna protect your honor, I guess.” he whispers back, still combing her hair.

She scoffs but doesn’t open her eyes.

“Sun’s almost up. I’ll see you in a bit, okay? Get some rest.”

Four doors down, when Dean steps into the room, Sam slings upright in his bed and aims a gun at his head before huffing and putting the gun away, “Where have you been?”

“Funky town,” Dean grouses.

“You spent the night?” Sam asks noting the predawn glow outside and his question is valid. Dean’s not been the spend the whole night kind of guy in years. He’s usually back much earlier than this, whenever it’s just some random lay.

“Do you want the details or are you just gonna trust it was worth sticking around for more honey?”

“Uhg,” Sam slumps back down on his bed. Then, “Okay, details.”

Dean, having banked on the fact that his brother is usually a girl about this stuff, scoffs as he takes his untouched motel bed. “Bubbly. Bouncy. Bold. She tied me up and rode me. She was just going and going--.”

“Uhg, okay. Whatever.”

Dean, chuckling triumphantly stretches out and sighs. “Helluva night.”

“Where do you even find these girls, Dean?”

“They come out of the woodwork for me, Sammy. It’s what happens when you’re as damn good lookin’ as me.”

“Yeah well, I’m taller,” Sam scoffs. He wings a pillow into Dean’s chest, “Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

-X-

Donna rides shotgun back to Stillwater. Conversation is light and, because Dean and Donna out vote Sam, the music is good. She does her best not to look at Dean too much. Whenever their eyes happen to meet, they smile and look away. It doesn’t feel weird. It feels like a delicious secret. What dread she had experienced post-coitus, when she considered how they will part ways and it could be weeks or months before she sees him again, is muted now. He has his life and she has hers, and they shared something fun once. It doesn’t seem so awful now in the daylight.

It’s kind of a bummer, sure.

Donna just doesn’t let herself dwell on it.

At a pit stop, Sam’s hitting the can so Dean and Donna are left alone in the car for the first time since Dean left her bed.

“So,” Donna says, unable to stop herself.

“You have my number,” Dean replies instantly, sincere eyes hitting hers and bouncing away. Then, with a smirk and sincerity masked by smoldering eyes, he continues, “Anytime Mama Donna needs to let loose, you call me.”

Blushing, Donna tucks her hair behind her ear, “Guess it’s pretty obvious I wasn’t really myself last night. Got kinda wild.”

“Hey, from where I was you were a natural at it, which in my experience, means it _is_ the real you, even if it it’s just a little part of you that you’ve never let drive before. Nothing wrong with putting her back in her box when you’re done.”

For some reason, this makes Donna feel a thousand times better. Whatever shame she had, whatever paranoia that she came off as crazy for being kinky one minute and the same old nice girl Donna the next, drops away. “Yah. You know, you are soooo right! Yah! Gash, I really needed to hear that. Thanks, Dean.”

“Ahh,” he waves a hand. Sam returns to the car, so, trading these blushing smiles of deep understanding, Dean and Donna silently agree that no more needs to be said on the subject.

In Stillwater, she climbs out of the car and stretches her numb legs. Sam retrieves her bags and takes her place up front. She slings the luggage strap over one shoulder and bends down to talk in the driver side window. “You boys sure saved my hide back there. Anytime you need a favor, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“You got it,” Dean says as Sam nods and speaks up with a kind, “Yeah, same to you, Donna. Hunt safe.”

“Bye bye.” She turns and walks up her driveway, aware of the sway in her hips and the fact that the Impala is still idling so Dean is probably admiring. She lets her smile stretch wide, thrilling at the new Donna.

-X-

Dean is admiring. Sam is, too. What man can resist the hips of a confident woman? And that uniform?

“Helluva woman,” Dean chirps one last time as she disappears into her house. He looks over and jumps his eyebrows at Sam, who nods in idle agreement; clearly his has only been a cursory appreciation, as he seems generally unmoved. Dean, biting back his grin, hits the gas. The engine roars and the next hunt begins.

**Author's Note:**

> This very possibly will be part one of a series because Dean/Donna--or double d action as my sis and I have taken to calling it--is starting to consume us.
> 
> Briana Buckmaster, whyyagotta be so cuuuuuute?


End file.
